


now, this is the story all about how (my life got flipped-turned upside down)

by verity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coffee Shops, Gen, Ghosts, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post - Deathly Hallows, Slam Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 13:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2852936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's opened for business on Friday and Saturday nights the second week of October. Well, "business." Susan and I got paid in Chocolate Frogs and not having to clean up, which seemed like an unfair labor policy until the first time I saw Draco Malfoy with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and suds on his nose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	now, this is the story all about how (my life got flipped-turned upside down)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_rocket_frost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_rocket_frost/gifts).



> for my very best bro, who wanted HPDM & a poetry slam. <3
> 
> the coffee stuff in here is accurate to the best of my ability, including the espresso machine, which is a hodgepodge of several la Pavonis.
> 
> content notes: this is set post-DH when a lot of people are recently and sadly dead, and one of the original characters is a ghost. This fic is humorous, but there's a lot of processing going on for everybody.

"I didn't think coffee would involve this much fire," I said as I glanced over the setup behind the bar. From the other side, it looked sort of like the Potions lab, only dirtier and more exciting. Just the right amount of slightly illicit thrill, untouched by the horrors of last year and the clean grief of rebuilding.

Beside me, Kimmy rolled her eyes. "Since when do you have a problem with fire?"

"Point." I cuffed my sleeves.

—

Traditionally, Merlin's was staffed by and caters to seventh-years—no elves or firsties allowed. At the end of your sixth year, if you were lucky, a keyholder plucked you from you from the crowd and introduced you to the circle of intimates that would be your after-hours companions for the next year. I hadn't been chosen the first time around, but now half my classmates were dead or gone: the pickings were slim around here.

Our classes were full, though, with seventh- and eighth-years working through the same material. In the dorms, it was the same. Luna and I had to share the Ravenclaw seventh-year girls' with Mandy and Padma, which was a bit awkward, especially since my brother—well. Luna was the only one who'd talk to me about the girls who should be here: those who've left Hogwarts and those who've left forever. It was Luna who gave me the key to Merlin's the first week of September.

" _Drink Me,_ " she said and pressed her hand against the rough stone of the dungeon wall. Obligingly, the wall made room for us. I followed Luna down a passageway that spilled into a big room at the end, so dimly lit it took my eyes a moment to adjust. "Welcome to Merlin's."

"Huh," I said, and then, " _Lumos_." By the light of my wand, I could make out an assortment of battered furniture scattered across the floor. There was a low stage at my right and a long bar straight ahead of me. "Is this a nightclub?"

Luna shrugged. "Well, people usually come here at night."

A movement at the corner of my eye startled me; I raised my wand to attack before I saw that it was only Kimmy floating toward us. My chest went all tight and my eyes prickled, seeing her and the darker grey of the wound on her shimmering side, but her face was so glad as she approached that I forced myself to swallow down my sorrow. "Noor," Kimmy said. "Oh, I'm so glad it's you."

"I've had Mandy's hot cocoa," Luna said sensibly.

—

Kimmy lit the lamps for me before we set about with my training. "I only had a couple weeks with Michael before he—you know. He said to go to McGonagall if you break anything."

"Ah, so it's not a _secret_ coffee shop." I was disappointed, I won't lie. "Luna made it sound like it was like Slug Club, except run by students and fairies."

"Definitely cooler than Slug Club," Kimmy said.

"I wish you'd told me," I grumped. "I'm cool enough."

"I would have, promise," she said. "After the seventh years leave, you get to invite someone."

We were quiet for a moment. Maybe Kimmy was thinking about how she was dead and hadn't got to, but I was mostly thinking about the seventh years that were still here, body and all. Everything was so weird. "Come on," I said finally. "Show me how this thing works. This—sprochine?"

Kimmy tried to elbow me, but it just came out like a cool shiver against my ribs. " _Espresso_ machine. Come on, you've had coffee before."

"We only have Nescafe at home." Nani's magic born and bred, but she married a Muggle and it skipped a generation before it got to my brother and me. "None of your Costa crap."

"Heathen," Kimmy scolded me.

"And proud of it," said I.

—

Most of the equipment behind the bar was comprehensible enough—spouted cauldrons for heating water, little cups with paper filters and holes at the bottom that drained into a waiting mug below, an enameled grinder with a dozen settings—but the espresso machine was intimidating. I would have found it odd in a shop back in Manchester, and even down in the bowels of Hogwarts, it was decidedly mystifying. The machine had a big lever, a dipper for coffee grounds that screwed into the middle, and a eagle perched on top of the boiler. "You've got to be careful," Kimmy said, batting futilely at my hands as I prodded the metal tube that curled around the side and supposedly steamed milk. "If you're not paying attention, water and coffee go _everywhere_."

"Pfff," I said. "How's it run, anyway? We haven't got electricity."

Kimmy shrugged. "Gas, I think."

My dad runs an appliance repair shop, so my brother and I grew up swashbuckling with spare parts and learning how to solder. I haven't got the family gift for machinery—that's my sister—but I know my way around a hoover. It didn't take me long to find the place where the gas line went in, trailing through a hole in the wall and off into nothing. Well, if it works, it works, which is what Mum says just to drive Dad up the wall.

The machine was already on and warm to the touch, so I pulled out the spoon and wiped the dew out of the bottom with a clean rag before I turned on the grinder. "I'm going to give it a shot," I said. "Probably we'll survive."

—

The first month of term, everyone was playing catch-up from the hash of last year, so I was able to get away for an hour most evenings to come down to Merlin's and practice with Kimmy and Susan Bones, who also hadn't made the cut for Merlin's last year. By the third week, I was noticeably improving. My milk was still all bubbles, but it wasn't burnt.

Tonight, Luna was sitting at the bar across from me and tilting the latte I'd given her from side to side, like she was trying to read fortunes in the cooling foam. A couple of ghosts were in the seating area—our own Grey Lady, Nearly Headless Nick, and a Hufflepuff second year I didn't know yet. I wiped the steam wand down with a wet rag and sidled over toward Luna, folding my arms on the bar. "Do dead people hang out down here a lot?" I asked in a low voice.

Luna glanced up from her cup. "They're everywhere, Noor. People just don't look. It's easier not to if you haven't seen anybody die."

I bit my lip. I've seen an awful lot of people die now, but probably not as many as Luna. "Sorry I didn't believe you before."

"Sorry I copied off your Divination homework." Luna gave me a crooked smile.

"Come on, we all copied off each other in Divination," I said. "If it was Arithmancy, though, you'd be in real trouble."

Behind Luna, the Grey Lady turned around and gave me a disapproving frown. I frowned back at her. We were Ravenclaws, we weren't _perfect_. Just look at this cappuccino.

—

Merlin's opened for business on Friday and Saturday nights the second week of October. Well, "business." Susan and I got paid in Chocolate Frogs and not having to clean up, which seemed like an unfair labor policy until the first time I saw Draco Malfoy with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and suds on his nose. "Stare all you want," he said when he caught me looking.

A year ago, I'd been intimidated by Draco Malfoy. One time we'd run into each other in the hall and he hadn't tried to help me pick up my books and quills or anything. Now I straightened my spine and met his gaze evenly. He may have gotten pardoned by Shacklebolt, but the way he was loading that poor dish strainer was positively criminal. "You're embarrassing yourself," I said. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you any kitchen spells?"

The first time I served Ron Weasley a cafe au lait, I almost spilled it all over myself. Ron wasn't paying any attention, though—he was engrossed in talking to Hermione, whose hot chocolate was my next drink in queue. Hermione elbowed him and reached over to take the mug from me. "Thanks, N—Nan, was it?"

"Noor," I said, flushing. Hermione's very pretty, bushy hair and all.

She grinned at me. "Noor, got it."

I put a little extra whip on her hot chocolate, just because.

—

Harry Potter didn't turn up in Merlin's until the last Friday in November, when I'd almost given up hope of seeing him outside Potions class. Not that I was one of those star-struck firsties, only—at Merlin's, nobody was anybody. Justin Finch-Fletchley swept up the lobby while I tidied up. Kimmy chatted with Ginny Weasley most nights. I was curious about what kind of patron Harry would be, that's all. Was he that arse who was supposed to be taking care of the bathrooms?

"I'm meant to be dusting the light fixtures," he said when he turned up while I was setting up for the evening. "I've been slacking, sorry."

"I'm sure you've been very busy," I said diplomatically. "Here, I'll cover up the espresso bar with a bin bag, and you can get the lamps above."

I hopped up on the back counter and watched Harry while he dusted, an intent look on his face. He was small, but neatly muscled, the way you get when you're playing Quidditch and fighting evil, I suppose. Not my type, but quite nice. "You don't have to be so quiet. I don't bite."

I whistled and kicked the underside of the bar across from me. "Just admiring the view."

Harry laughed, then sneezed. "You must get some nice ones from back here."

"Susan works Saturdays," I informed him. "I'm not always creeping on everyone."

"Well, you're in a good position for tonight," he said.

Oh, that's right. "The poetry reading?"

"I understand it's a 'slam.'" Harry's voice went nasal and posh on the last word; he ruined it by sneezing again.

The duster had rained down a light coating of detritus on his head—I considered letting it go until he'd developed a full-on beard, but my conscience won out. I drew my wand out from my pocket. " _Tergeo_."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "There goes that Christmas card photo."

"You've still the lamps in the cafe," I said. "Don't lose hope."

—

While Harry tackled the cafe, I pulled a few test shots of espresso. "Fill, fill," I hissed at the boiler, but it took its sweet time as usual. The next shot that came out was almost perfect—nice crema on top, great body, ashy finish. "Bleh." I turned the wheel on the grinder to coarsen things up a notch.

Kimmy floated through the wall and settled at my shoulder. I haven't gotten used to it, the way she can do that—I'm not sure if I want to. "Norrie, have you seen— _him_ yet?"

"You'll have to be more specific," I said. "Harry Potter's dusting, though."

"We ought to put him in a frilly apron," Kimmy said after a moment of study.

Harry said, "I can hear you, you know."

Kimmy rolled her eyes, but she lowered her voice anyway. "Draco _Malfoy_ is organizing a _Muggle poetry slam_?"

"Well, I don't know any other Dracos, do you?" I said, and then, "Fill, you bloody menace."

"Wish I could still drink coffee." Kimmy gave the espresso machine a longing look. "I'd kill for a mocha about now."

"I'm drinking for two," I said grimly as I cued up another shot of espresso.

That was when Draco Malfoy swanned in, wearing tight trousers and a t-shirt that bared the Mark on his arm. It wasn't the first time I'd seen it, of course—he put up his sleeves for the dishes—but it wasn't like he marched around with it openly. He's the only one with it in the school, now, as far as I know. My brother hadn't come back with the eighth years to finish after he'd turned sides at the end—he'd gone home to sit his A-levels after his pardon. "No one's set up the stage?"

"We don't have elves here," Harry scolded him lightly. "This is a student cooperative. You'll have to do it yourself."

"Granger must feel right at home," Draco said with a frown as he set to work adjusting the stage lights. " _Lumos_ , _lumos_ —oh, you've cleaned these?"

"Well," Harry said.

There was a long pause where they stared into each other's eyes and the tension in the room rose like the pressure in the spout-thingy of the espresso machine when I pulled the lever. Politely, I turned my back, and prodded Kimmy where her side should have been until she did, too. "They're kissing," she whispered, her cool lips tickling my ear. "You're missing the show."

"The show's not until nine, and it's only half-past seven," I said.

Kimmy huffed. "Boo. You're no fun."

—

"What's this all about, anyway?" I asked Luna when she turned up. She'd dressed for the occasion—swishy blue robes, silver earrings that shifted and slithered along the curve of her ears as I watched. "Poetry. That's more of a—"

Luna nodded. "Muggle thing?"

"Don't know of any wizards who've produced any great literature." This isn't a swotty public school—we're not _all_ meant for government service or books—but there's no creative writing classes at Hogwarts and no arts, either.

"Tolkien?" Luna said.

"Debatable," I said.

"I think we could stand to learn a lot more from Muggles," Luna said softly. "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wasn't magic, but he saw fairies. The worlds aren't as separate as they seem."

On stage, Draco tapped his wand to his throat, then boomed, "Tonight, I will open our gathering with my piece, 'Home & Country.'"

I sighed.

—

Draco wasn't half bad, but Neville Longbottom made me cry with his piece about his parents. I was thinking I was about done for the night when Padma's sister stepped onto the stage. "I'm Parvati Patil," she said, giving a little wave like we didn't all know her. "And this is about—my life. Just a little thing I want to share with you.

" _Now, this is the story all about how_  
My life got flipped-turned upside down  
And I'd like to take a minute, just hold your shorts  
I'll tell you how I became queen of a school called Hogwarts."

Some of the Muggleborn students in the audience were already grinning, Padma was clapping along, and Parvati beamed right back. A different sort of tears were pricking my eyes. Kimmy brushed her arm against mine and said, "This is the best day of my life."

—

Afterward, I sat with Kimmy on a sofa while Draco and Padma did the washing up. We weren't talking, just sitting there, like we'd done a million times back in the Ravenclaw common room when we were too tired to study more or move. Of course, Kimmy never went up there now. The reason she's in Merlin's is that the dungeons are where she died—she and I had taken the Ravenclaw first- and second-years downstairs to hide as You-Know-Who took hold of the upper levels. I'd gotten everyone squirreled away in an abandoned classroom when Kimmy shoved me in after them and said, "Stay put. I'll come back when it's safe."

I guess Hogwarts is safe enough now.

"What do you think Merlin's is for, anyway?" I said. "Interhouse fraternization? Keeping us out of the Firewhiskey?"

Kimmy shook her head. "Maybe it's a reward."

"You can't even drink the coffee," I said. "That's not fair."

"All I can do is ogle Harry Potter's arse," Kimmy said miserably.

I looked over at her until she met my eyes. "I'm sorry you're dead." Probably I was supposed to say, _it should have been me_ , or something like that, but I didn't want to be dead at all. There were so many things in life left to learn and do—books to read, drinks to make, newspapers to read to my dad while he was up to his elbows in a malfunctioning stand mixer. I wanted Kimmy to call me on break when she was hopped up on a triple espresso from Nero, to braid my hair, to tease me about putting off revising to read another book about wizarding history.

"Sure you are," said Kimmy. "No one else to call you on taking a million years in the shower every morning."

I huffed. "Oh, Mandy Brocklehurst has that covered."

Kimmy gave me a funny half-smile. "Soon you won't need me at all."

"So what?" I said. "Being friends isn't about _needing_."

For a moment, I thought that I'd made a hash of it, given that Kimmy had died saving my life and all, but then she laughed and leaned the coolness that had been her head against my shoulder. "It's lonely being dead," she said. "I don't have to stay down here, but I spook everyone upstairs. Professor Vector cried when she saw me."

"Well, it's very sad, you being dead," I pointed out.

Kimmy said, "Don't be so _logical_ about it, it's depressing."

We sat there for another long moment. I looked at Draco, who'd finally got his plates sorting themselves out properly, and Padma, who was leaning against the wall while a rag wiped down the counter. Who'd survived and who'd died was so random. Being good and brave and kind hadn't saved you, or bought you a second chance. I was selfishly glad to have my brother, and Kimmy, no matter what form she was in.

"I'm going to invent a telly that runs off magic," I said abruptly. "Then you can watch _East Enders_ instead of floating around feeling sorry for yourself."

Kimmy poked me in the arm.

I poked back just as ineffectually. "That bloody tickles."

"Ha, ha," said Kimmy. "Write a sad poem about it for poetry night."

"Maybe I will," I said.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


End file.
